


Unexpected

by highlytrainedfangirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Aromantic Mycroft, Emphasis on angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Soulmates, this does not end happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlytrainedfangirl/pseuds/highlytrainedfangirl
Summary: Sherlock doesn't want a soulmate. He doesn't want anyone getting close to his heart.John is terrified of meeting his, but he just can't help falling for Sherlock.





	

Small neat script lay buried under layers of fabric. Even in the unusually warm summer he wore long sleeves and a jacket, making sure that the fabric covered his wrists. It was sweltering but he couldn't remove the clothing. If he took it off it would mean exposing the name on his wrist to the world. It would mean admitting it to himself.  
Of course he knew what it said. John. Beautiful neat handwriting.  
As a child he saw all the other children excitedly talk about their future soulmates. What would their name be? What would they look like? How would they meet?  
As a teenager there was the excited gossip each morning a someone else had the name appear on their wrist for the first time.  
The day Sherlock saw the other name appear was the day he vowed to always wear long sleeves. No one else knew when his appeared. Pupils around him mocked him for being unlovable – obviously that freaky kid would never have a soulmate, who'd want _him_?  
Sherlock tired brushing it off. Pretended it didn't hurt.

It ached.

It ached knowing that he had a name on his wrist of a man he would never meet. A man he couldn't let himself get close to. He wanted it. Wanted it so badly. In a way, if a name had never graced his wrist Sherlock would have been happier. He wouldn't have to be tempted.  
But he couldn't let himself get close.

People let you down. People hurt you. People die.

People couldn't be allowed anywhere near his glass heart. 

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

Almost half the people in John’s class already had their marks. He could see the longing glances and jealous stares on everyone around him who did. He felt like the only one wishing they could never see theirs. At sixteen, he was confident in his sexuality, despite taking years to wrestle with himself over the subject. But that didn't mean others would be.  
If it was a woman's name great, nothing to worry about. If it was a man's… John’s parents weren't exactly the accepting type. 

After months of stressing, he awoke to the sight a haphazard yet beautiful scrip decorating the inside of his right wrist. On it was the name ‘William’.  
Well, shit.

It was easy enough to cover up – no one knew exactly when they'd get theirs, so no one was looking for a name on John’s wrist. It was easy enough to hide beneath the thick leather strap of an old watch that had previously belonged to his grandfather.  
It was a good short term solution but it would never last – people would start asking sooner or later.

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

Mycroft didn't pry. He was possibly the only person to be sympathetic to Sherlock’s feelings. Sherlock knew that his brother didn't approve, but Mycroft also understood why Sherlock chose to isolate himself.  
Sherlock couldn't help it sometimes, glancing in envy at the blank wrist of his brother, knowing it would likely never be filled.

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

The house was quiet. Both of John’s parents lay fast asleep. Hesitantly John crept out of his room and down the pitch black hallway to his sister’s room. Knocking on the door he got no response, so he gingerly pushed it open and edged his way inside. Once he was stood over Harry’s bed he began gently whispering for her to wake up, the faint sounds far too loud in the silent house.  
Grey eyes blinked open to glare up at him. Even sleep fogged, her eyes still held a ferocity that few could rival.  
“God this better be something important,” her words were slurred with fatigue. As she blinked herself back to consciousness, Harry noticed John’s serious expression.  
“You ok?”  
He took a shaky breath, “um, yeah, can we talk?”  
The two of them might never have been close, but when it came down to it they both knew that they could talk to the other. When Harry had first realised she was gay she had confided in John, he had helped her cope and promised not to tell their parents.  
So now it was John's turn.

They sat huddled on the floor for an hour, John pouring out his feelings, confessions he was too scared to voice. He sat with his wrist bared and exposed for the first time in two weeks. Harry listened. She spoke reassuring words and hugged him tightly. Both were reluctant to leave the other’s company, but the lure of sleep was too powerful and eventually John retreated back to his room, feeling just a little lighter.

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

As the years blurred by, Sherlock solved case after case until he earned the trust of at least a few members of Scotland Yard. Well, trust may not be the exact word, but they at least recognised him as an important asset.  
Sherlock was tolerated, not liked.  
He tried his best to ignore the conversations that seemed to haunt him.  
“Who d’you reckon it is?”  
“Huh?”  
“Freak’s soulmate.”  
“Like he'd ever have one. How messed up would you have to be to love him?”  
The words scathed, but they were the same words Sherlock had grown up swimming in. It was nothing new.

Unfortunately he was never able to find a place to stay for very long. He didn't have the income to support himself and flat mates never lasted long. They always found their soulmate and left. Or gave up trying to live with his chaotic habits.  
Sherlock had a brilliant offer – cheap accommodation, prime spot, plenty of space. The only issue was he'd never be able to pay the rent alone. And who would want to live with him?

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

The war was a part of John. He witnessed horrific acts and sights that would forever burn themselves onto his eyelids, but it was a part of him. It made him who he was. For the first time, the war was a place where he felt like he could be himself. In between the nightmarish scenery there were moments of joy. The elation at helping the injured, whether they be valiant soldier or unfortunate citizen. Even his relationship with James Sholto, although they both knew it was going nowhere.

When he was forcefully evicted from the war by a bullet to the shoulder, it felt like the end of everything. Maybe it was. He lost everything he lived for. Unable to return to the war he faced the prospect of civilian life. Empty and boring, lacking the rush of adrenaline that fuelled him.

And then Mike Stamford introduced him to the most incredible man – Sherlock Holmes.

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

Sherlock honestly wasn't sure what prompted him to complain about his situation to Mike. Perhaps it was inevitable that he'd end up venting to someone and Mike was as good as any. Despite not talking much, as acquaintances went Mike was one of the friendliest towards Sherlock. After the frustration of being kicked out after _disagreements_ with his previous landlord Sherlock was feeling a little desperate.  
Whatever it was that compelled him, Sherlock had to admit it worked out perfectly. Mike returned shortly with an army doctor in tow. Sherlock took in every detail the moment the man stepped through the doors. It was obvious why Mike had brought him in – potential flat mate.  
He should have pushed the other man away but he needed a flat mate and the army doctor was interesting. Preening and showing off may not have been necessary, but the opportunity was there and Sherlock took it. The other man seemed to short circuit as the deductions rolled off his tongue, but the reaction was not the typical violent or defensive stance. Perhaps this would work after all.

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

From the moment they met John felt an irresistible pull towards Sherlock. The detective was completely unlike anyone he'd ever met before and the life they led together was exactly what John had been scared of losing. True, Sherlock could be a challenge to deal with, but John really didn't mind. It was perfect.  
He'd never felt more content with his life, strange as that may seem with the constant threat. What surprised John most of all was that he equally loved the time spend mindlessly in the flat.  
John didn't want to admit it, but he had fallen head over heels for the detective.  
Other people noticed it too, apparently; the comments on his blog were filled with nothing but jokes and speculation about their exact relationship.  
The dark cloud still hung over his feelings though – Sherlock wasn't his soulmate. Or more importantly _he_ wasn't _Sherlock’s_ soulmate. While John had never given it much though before, some people did chose to spend their lives with someone who wasn't their soulmate. John certainly wouldn't mind that with Sherlock. But how would the other man feel? Even if he did love John, would he wish to spend his live with someone he knew wasn't his soulmate? Did he know who his soulmate was? What if there was someone else Sherlock loved?  
The thoughts plagued him constantly, refusing to leave his mind clear.

Irene Adler threw a whole new problem into the mix. The army doctor couldn't help feeling jealous over her. The though occurred to him more than a few times that maybe she was Sherlock’s soulmate. Unfortunately he was never able to confirm or deny his suspicions due to a thick gold bangle around her wrist.  
John felt stupid for the anger he felt towards her, just for simple things like texting Sherlock. _Flirting_ with Sherlock.  
He at least took a little hope from the fact that he never responded.

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

Sherlock wasn't an idiot. The moment he found out John's name he knew what would happen. He wanted to deny it, but the destiny-like scenario that brought the two together was too perfect to ignore. Fate would force him to find his soulmate, no matter how much he didn't want to.  
He hoped that John wouldn't like him, that John would be just like everybody else. 

He'd never hated being wrong so much.

John was incredible and brilliant and Sherlock couldn't tell him enough how amazing he was. He hated himself for falling so completely and utterly for the army doctor. All his life he'd tried so hard to avoid being close to others. Why, why, the one time he let someone in were they able to take hold of his heart so completely and utterly?

His heart broke every time he tried to push John away, but he couldn't let himself feel the inevitable pain.

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he stood on the roof, saying goodbye to John for what may be the last time. Even if he couldn't let himself close, there would still be a wound on his heart without John there.

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

He fell. And then he was gone. The part of John's life that had become necessary for him to go on. The ache he felt standing over Sherlock's grave was indescribable. It left every part of his being filled with pain and regret. 

The days afterwards crawled by yet at the same time there was no detail, no memories, just endless expanses of time passing and blurring into each other. Everything felt wrong without Sherlock, in a way John hadn't known life could.  
He didn't have the motivation to do anything anymore. All he wanted was that part of his soul back that lived with the detective.  
Friends and family were supportive, helping him grieve. The worst part was possibly that every time he described the pain, someone who had lost their soulmate would interject and say that was exactly what they had felt. It was like they were tormenting him. 

 

Eventually John met Mary. They both knew they weren't each other's soulmates, although they didn't tell anyone else that. They both kept the names on their wrist hidden. He didn't know who Mary’s soulmate was and she didn't know his (though he was pretty certain she thought it was Sherlock).  
Friends, family, fans of the blog, they all saw the two of them as an adorable couple – a great example of soulmates. But beneath the surface they both knew that there was nothing really behind their relationship.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

The only thought that kept Sherlock going through his period of death was the promise of returning to John.  
Needless to say he wasn't expecting to return to see him proposing to another person. After his return he'd hoped that john would chose him, would want him. But even after his return John chose to marry Mary. He wanted her not him.  
It shouldn't have surprised him. Sherlock should have realised that John would have been hurt when he faked his death.

It was wrong returning to Baker Street without him. Completely and utterly wrong. There was a part of him longing to run and just pretend John’s wedding would never happen and a part that wished for nothing more than it over and done with.

The worst part of all was remaining by John's side. Even though John had chosen Mary over him, Sherlock couldn't let go. It pained him to stand next to John, never quite able to touch. He stood by his side, playing a beautiful waltz for the two at their wedding. He saw the crowds of adoring friends and family, blissfully unaware of how his heart was shattering.  
He knew that most of those present beloved John and Mary to be soulmates. It was never something Sherlock himself had thought about – everything about his fates meeting with John and the name on his wrist had told him that they were soulmates. Sherlock had even fallen helplessly in love with him, despite his best efforts not to. It made sense.  
But what if it didn't.  
What if he'd jumped to conclusions - he'd never seen the name on John's wrist and they never spoke about it. Was it possible that Sherlock had always been fated to lose his doctor?

 

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

 

Life without Sherlock became harder day by day. John knew that life with Mary was bringing him no fulfilment. Outsiders looking in on their relationship always said how much of a perfect couple the two made, a beautiful example of normality in their hectic lifestyle. How could they not see how drained John was? How empty he was inside?  
Maybe he'd just practiced lying about how he felt one too many times.

The wedding had shattered his heart. Sherlock loved him. Anyone could tell – every single person in that room knew how he felt after the best man speech. John felt like an idiot. Every second more than Sherlock unintentionally spilled his heart out, John wondered how he managed to miss the other’s feelings.

The moment his already splintered heart disintegrated was as he said good bye to Sherlock for one final time. There was nothing more excruciating than losing Sherlock a second time, and so soon after he'd finally got him back.  
His heart stopped when the detective asked to speak to him alone, sucking in a shuddering breathe before saying the words that would finally break him.  
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

_William._

The earth opened beneath him and john felt himself falling deep into a pit of regret. So many wasted opportunities. The only thing keeping him from confessing his feelings to Sherlock was the knowledge that Sherlock could never feel the same. But now, _now_ , everything was different. He could have had him.  
If only he'd said something…  
But it was too late. Sherlock was gone. He was leaving and John knew that he'd never see him again.

The splintered remains of his heart never left that stretch of tarmac.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know why but I never really wanted to do a soulmate au for johnlock. I can't explain why it just didn't seem right for them to me? But then I had this idea and I had to.  
> I'm sorry for making the most adorable fluffy prompt nothing but angst.
> 
> Also last chance to upload this before we finally get off the tarmac! 21 days - I can feel series 4!


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